He That Thou Knowest Thine
by ebonyandunicorn
Summary: Horatio returns to Elsinore Castle to comfort Prince Hamlet over the loss of his father, and becomes Hamlet's rock and much more in the storm of events that is to follow.
1. I

Deep in the heart of night, a lone rider bent over the body of his horse, speeding along the winding road towards Elsinore Castle. The wind whipped his hair into a frenzy and bit at the gaps in his clothes, but he did not slow to draw his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He had been riding for days and nights almost without rest, and was determined to reach his destination before dawn. He was determined, also, to ignore the eerie howling of the wind over the desolate plain, heralding the thunderstorm that had been brewing on the horizon since he had first crossed the border. There had once been rich fields growing along this road, green grass and golden wheat. Now there was only dirt, and the dust kicked up by the hooves of his horse.

He was stopped at the castle gate, as he had expected to be. What he had not expected was the roughness with which the guards treated him, practically pulling him from his horse and shouting their demands. "Who are you? What is your business here?" He did his best to explain, but _I'm a friend of the Prince's _was an unlikely excuse at the best of times, and the night was dark and cold and the guards ill-tempered. He was, in fact, moments from being thrown out or into jail when they were all stopped by a voice.

"Stop," said Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. "I know this man. He speaks the truth, and he is not to be harmed."

"He claims to be an acquaintance of yours, my lord," one of the guards said. "Says he came all the way from Germany."

"An acquaintance." Hamlet hummed, a smirk about his mouth. "Indeed. He has travelled a long way and is no doubt eager to rest. Francisco, see that his mount is stabled and cared for. Barnardo, take his belongings to the east wing."

"The gate, my lord –"

"I will guard the gate. Go."

"As my lord commands." The guards moved off. Hamlet watched them go, the smirk gone from his face.

The traveller knelt before his Prince. "My lord Hamlet."

"Be welcome to Elsinore, friend of Denmark," the Prince replied formally. Then he added, in quite a different tone, "Oh, my dear Horatio. Rise."

Horatio stood, and Hamlet embraced him – as a friend, as a brother, as one whom he loved. Holding tight to the Prince's mourning clothes, feeling Hamlet's face buried in his shoulder, Horatio said, "My lord. I am so, so sorry. I came as soon as I heard."

Hamlet released him with a shake of his head. "The time for apologies is long since past, Horatio. You are here, and that is all that counts." A sudden, twisted smile sprang to his face, as far from sincere as the joyous tone in which he then spoke. "Besides, have you not heard? We are in a time of celebration. My mother has been wed to my uncle. Claudius now reigns as King of Denmark."

Horatio could simply stare, shocked beyond words. "S-surely not, my lord," he stammered at length. "It has been scarcely two months..."

"Six weeks," Hamlet corrected him, in a tone of sorrow and anger and bitterness and hurt. "Six weeks since my mother's beloved husband died, and what better way to show her undying love for him than by marrying his brother? Fear not, Horatio; Claudius will make a wonderful king, for he is everything my father was not – a deceitful, cunning, treacherous son of a –"

"You speak treason, my lord," Horatio reminded him softly.

"Treason? _Pah_." Hamlet spat to the side. "I would shout it from the highest towers of the castle if it would return my father from his grave. I remain heir yet; Claudius cannot touch me, and as for my mother..." He shook his head violently, turning away. "Walk with me."

"My lord, it is almost dawn," Horatio replied, though he followed, as he always did. "Why are you awake at such an hour?"

"It has become a habit of mine," Hamlet answered. "I lie awake otherwise, or am troubled by nightmares until the morning. I dream of my father, Horatio. He is in my thoughts every waking moment and has come to invade my sleeping ones, as well." He stopped suddenly, reaching out to grip Horatio's arm. "I _miss_ him," the Prince of Denmark whispered, gritting his teeth against the tears.

"As you should, my lord," Horatio whispered. His other hand moved to cover Hamlet's with a gentle, soothing pressure. "He was a good king and a good man."

"He's gone," Hamlet choked out. "_Gone_, Horatio. There nothing good about that."

"No, my lord," Horatio replied quietly.

"Enough with the '_my lord_'!" Hamlet snapped, rounding suddenly on his friend. The sudden change in his mood was unsettling, but Horatio did not flinch away. "Is that all I am to you?" Hamlet demanded. "Truly?"

"I am whatever you want me to be, my lord."

Hamlet shook his head violently, tears in his eyes. "No," he whispered. "No, Horatio. I don't want another simpering courtier come to pay his condolences. I want _you_, and all that we shared at Wittenberg, though all may curse me as a heretic and a fool." He took a step forward until they were almost nose to nose. "If you are not here to give me that, I want you out by the dawn, for I could not bear to see you in court and not be allowed to touch you."

Horatio took hold of Hamlet's hands, pressing them together in the small space that separated their bodies. He kissed the tips of Hamlet's fingers, then looked shyly into the other man's face. "I will be everything you want me to be, my lord. Hamlet."

"Be mine," the Prince whispered, leaning into his kiss.


	2. II

He found Hamlet reading, something that took him instantly back to their days at Wittenberg. They had, in fact, met in the library, back when Hamlet's father had been King and things had been simpler. Now, though, things were not so simple. Hamlet's Uncle Claudius reigned, and his father...

His father had appeared from beyond the grave the night before.

"My lord," Horatio said hesitantly. Though the Ghost had not spoken, Horatio had somehow known that it wanted Hamlet. Horatio had not trusted the spectre, but he knew it was unwise to act contrary to a spirit's desires. Hamlet, too, had been in a black mood ever since Horatio had arrived, and he would do anything he could to soothe the worried mind and sore heart of his Prince.

Hamlet looked up from his book, and Horatio saw the telltale red splotches on his cheeks and the black rings beneath his eyes – another day of crying following another night of no sleep. He felt his throat clench and approached the Prince where he sat on the stairs. "Are you well?"

"Do I look well, Horatio?" Hamlet asked tonelessly. Exhaustion had stripped his voice of emotion.

"No, my lord," Horatio answered. "You look terrible."

"Oh, Horatio. At least you are honest." Hamlet forced himself to his feet. "I will warn you, though, that if you call me 'my lord' while we are alone once more, I shall strip you of your clothes and your dignity before you have the chance to apologise. Honestly."

Horatio swallowed, feeling his face flush. "We're hardly alone, my l – Hamlet."

"I heard that." Hamlet grabbed the back of Horatio's neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss, made all the sweeter by the fact that they were standing in an extraordinarily public part of the castle. Horatio could think of nothing but getting caught, but it didn't detract from the cleverness of his Prince's tongue or the warmth of their bodies pressed so closely together in such an open space. At last, Hamlet pulled away, leaving Horatio gasping a little. "Consider that a warning," said the devious Prince, caressing the space beneath Horatio's ear for a moment before retracting his hand.

"Yes... Hamlet," Horatio whispered.

He was rewarded with a smile. "My Horatio," Hamlet said fondly. "I've missed you so. You mustn't go away again."

"Never," Horatio vowed. Staring into Hamlet's face, he noticed the dark rings beneath the Prince's eyes anew, and he took on a pitied expression. "You've not been sleeping."

"No, I've been wandering," Hamlet replied. "A habit, as I told you. Don't look so glum, Horatio. I am more than miserable enough for the both of us."

"So I see, and it pains my heart," Horatio said honestly. "If there was anything I could do..."

Hamlet shook his head, turning away. "No, Horatio. If you could restore my father to life, perhaps that would bring me some way towards healing. But aside from that..."

All at once Horatio remembered the reason for his visit. "My lord, last night –"

"You said it again." Hamlet faced him, a glint in his eye.

"Punish me later," Horatio said quickly, holding up his hands. "This you will want to hear."

Hamlet tilted his head. "Is that so?"

"Yes, my lord. Last night, I kept watch alongside Barnardo and Marcellus. During the day, they had spoken to me of... a vision they had had. They claimed that a spirit had risen from its grave to haunt their watch two nights hence, and the night before. Naturally, I did not believe them."

"Naturally," Hamlet repeated with a nod.

"But then..." Horatio swallowed nervously, unable to meet the Prince's gaze. "When I was with them, my lord, the spirit appeared again. He was... the very image of your father."

"My father?"

"Yes, armed and armoured as he had been in life. I tried to speak to him, but dawn was approaching, and he vanished."

Hamlet began to pace, his exhaustion forgotten. "You are certain it was my father?"

"In looks, yes," Horatio replied. "He did not speak."

Hamlet pulled up suddenly in front of Horatio. "I will watch with you tonight," he said. "If this spirit has appeared for three nights, there will be a fourth. I will see him for myself – my father. I will see my father. I will see my _father_."

Abruptly, he turned away from Horatio and started up the stairs. Horatio watched him go, already used to the new, sudden mood swings that had characterised Hamlet after the King's death. They did not bother him, even when they led Hamlet to practically forget about him, just as he had. Horatio wanted only to ease his friend's burdens in any way he could. He would not ask for attention or for love; he would simply be there to give and receive it at Hamlet's wish.

"Horatio."

The call from halfway up the stairs startled him, and he glanced upwards. "My lord?"

"You said it again." Hamlet leaned over the bannister, smirking down at the hapless man below. The look in his eyes was enough to make Horatio shiver.

"I did, my lord," he replied, and began to climb the stairs.


	3. III

The cold night air was colder still atop the wall where the three men kept watch. Marcellus huddled inside his cloak and stared out over the bleak lands that surrounded the castle, but Hamlet's gaze flickered over the wall where they stood, where Horatio had said that the Ghost had appeared. For his part, Horatio kept his eyes on the Prince, attempting to push away the thought of how much more pleasant it would be if they could have held each other close for warmth. He had not seen Hamlet so animated about something since the death of his father, except for the one or two occasions when a surge of anger directed towards his mother and uncle had overtaken him.

It had struck twelve not long ago, and still the silence stretched on. Once or twice either Marcellus or Horatio ventured forth a comment on the chill in the air or the malicious wind, but Hamlet never replied, his blue eyes scanning every inch of the wall. Only when the quiet was abruptly shattered by a flourish of trumpets and the sound of cannons firing did he laugh out loud and turn to address the others.

"Fear not, Horatio," he said in response to his friend's startled question. "It is but my uncle the king. He has adopted the estimable custom of waking late in the evening to drink, dance, carouse and generally make an ass of himself in front of all his friends." Hamlet heaved a theatrical sigh. "Alas, he puts my own night deeds to shame with the nobility of his actions. I may wake and wander the grounds of Elsinore, keeping quiet and keeping to myself, but he disturbs the rest of every inhabitant of this castle, if not all of Denmark. He truly is a wise and wonderful king."

Horatio glanced at Marcellus and read the other man's wide-eyed disbelief at how Hamlet spoke of his liege. "My lord," he said quickly, "it is near to the hour when the spirit is wont to walk. If you would come with me, I can show you where it appeared last night. Marcellus, stay and keep your guard here." Hamlet needed no encouragement and was quick to cross the wall to where Horatio stood. When they had moved far enough from Marcellus that they would not be overheard, he began to berate his Prince.

"Hamlet, you cannot speak of your uncle in that way," he implored. "It is treason, and being his heir does not make you invulnerable. Please, be more careful. If Marcellus were not a good friend to you, he could report your words to the king. You could be imprisoned or killed."

"I speak only the truth, Horatio," Hamlet replied airily, and Horatio, despairingly, knew that his friend would not listen to anything he said when in this mood. "Surely my beloved uncle has not yet outlawed honesty? In truth, it is a virtue he himself lacks, but so too are goodness and kindness and – if we are being honest, which we are, though you caution me against it – the virtue of a handsome face... and yet I see many of these things before me now, not least of all in yourself, dear Horatio." He tapped his friend's cheek, smiling merrily. "However, I see also that you worry too much. You needn't fear for my safety. I assure you, I have no intention of being imprisoned or killed. Not least of all by my slimy, smirking uncle."

Horatio gulped. "Hamlet, please," he begged. "Promise me you'll watch your words. Your uncle may be many things, but he is the king, and he is powerful. I... couldn't bear it if you got hurt." He lowered his gaze to his boots.

Hamlet tutted, still smiling. "You worry too much," he repeated flippantly. "You spoil my fun. But, if you insist, I suppose I shall have no choice but to promise. Here, then: I promise to lie and smile and simper and play the role of dutiful nephew and Prince. Will that let you sleep easier at night?"

"Yes, my lord," Horatio answered, still not meeting his gaze. It was not often he felt wounded by Hamlet, but the Prince's casual tone hurt. He was no stranger to being mocked – he had been picked on every day at Wittenberg – but Hamlet was one of the only students who had never teased him. The Prince's extraordinary intelligence often manifested itself in acerbic wit, but Horatio had never been the victim of it, until that night.

There was a pause, and then he heard Hamlet sigh. "I am glad of it," the Prince said quietly, reaching out to tilt Horatio's chin up until they were looking each other in the eye. His tone of voice was serious at last. "At least one of us should be able to sleep soundly. Horatio, forgive me. Your advice is sound, and I would do well to listen to it. And your concern for me... I am undeserving of it."

"Never," Horatio said vehemently. "You deserve all that I give you and more."

They were too far away to be overheard or observed and standing in shadow on a moonless night. For once, Horatio did not think of the dangers of being caught as Hamlet's mouth claimed his, the Prince's arms ensnaring his waist as Horatio threaded his fingers through Hamlet's curls. The kiss deepened as Hamlet pulled Horatio's body closer, the cold of the night banished by the shared warmth of their bodies and forgotten in the tugging at hair and the touching of tongues. Hamlet had always been skilled at kissing – whatever he did, he did well – but there was a new passion and a determination to him now, as though his father's death had reinforced the importance of these moments by reminding him of the existence of mortality. Now, when he kissed, he did so as though he meant it, as though every one could be his last. Horatio, who had always valued their kisses because the privacy required to enjoy them was so rare, felt himself gradually turning to jelly under the skilled movements of the Prince's hands and tongue.

"Hamlet," he gasped as the Prince pulled away from his mouth to suck at his neck, stubble rasping against his smooth skin.

"Horatio," Hamlet replied, his lips trailing kisses down to where Horatio's skin disappeared beneath his cloak. Horatio's hands twisted in Hamlet's hair, his eyes fluttering closed. Both men fell silent again, the one's mouth occupied, the other gradually forgetting how to form words.

Only the sudden, terrified yell could have distracted them.

_"My lord!"_


	4. IV

Dark night, dark thoughts. Horatio paced, up and down, over and over, pausing every turn to look over towards where Hamlet and the Ghost had disappeared around a corner, lost to them. He tried not to think about what would happen if the Prince never returned. He had tried his best, had tried to talk Hamlet out of it, had grabbed his arm in an attempt to keep him from being led away by the mysterious Ghost whose motives were unknown to all of them... but the Prince had, unsurprisingly, not listened to Horatio, and had followed the spirit that looked so unnervingly like his late father.

"We have to go after him," Horatio said at last, stopping in his pacing beside Marcellus. "He's been gone for too long. Something could have happened."

Marcellus nodded and the two set off towards where Hamlet and the Ghost had gone. As they rounded the corner, Horatio felt his heart pounding against his chest, and the chill that ran down his back was from more than just the cold. He saw Hamlet kneeling on the stones, could pick out even from this distance the tears coursing down his face. The Ghost was nowhere in sight.

"My lord?" Marcellus called, hesitating.

Hamlet flinched at the sound but stood, turning away to wipe his eyes before he faced his friends with an insincerely joyous expression. "My friends!" he replied, raising his arms in welcome towards them.

"What news, my lord?" Horatio asked.

"Oh, wonderful news. Truly wonderful." Hamlet's eyes were too bright, his smile forced. Horatio recognised the mask that Hamlet put on every time he was hurt. He had not worn it in the days before his father's murder, but it was seen too often now.

"Then tell it, my lord," Marcellus said eagerly.

Hamlet instantly pulled up short, the mask vanishing to be replaced by an expression of utter fear. "I dare not! You would reveal it."

"My lord, we would never," replied Marcellus sincerely. Horatio echoed this, fighting the urge to go to Hamlet and hold him until the fear disappeared from his face.

"Swear it," Hamlet commanded, drawing his sword. Now his expression was terribly, terribly grave. "Swear by my sword that you will make no mention of what you have seen tonight."

"We would never," Horatio said again.

"By the sword!" Hamlet took two steps towards them, almost at a run, and Horatio had to consciously avoid pulling back in fear. This was Hamlet, he reminded himself. If he was acting a little strangely, he could hardly be blamed for it; he had just seen a spirit with the exact likeness of his dead father. _He would never harm me_, _or anyone_.

"_Swear_," thundered an unknown voice, and this time Horatio did flinch. It was, he knew, the voice of the Ghost, though the spirit itself was nowhere to be seen. Hamlet looked up to the sky and laughed.

"There, you see? My father wills it so, and my father was the truest king to ever rule this twisted, festering land." He was breathing hard, and there was a glint to his eye that made Horatio feel sick. "Come, gentlemen. Put your hands upon my sword, and swear never to speak of all that you have seen and heard tonight."

"_Swear_," boomed the terrible voice once more.

They swore.

"My thanks, friends." Hamlet's voice had lost its edge. As he sheathed his blade, all the strength and the passion seemed to drain from him; he trembled and staggered, almost falling to the cold stones. Horatio started forward and Hamlet grabbed his arm like a vice. "It is late," the Prince murmured, "and I have seen too much tonight. Horatio, escort me to my chambers."

"And I, my lord?" Marcellus asked, starting forward.

"No," Hamlet said. "Remain here on guard, Marcellus, until your replacement comes to take the watch." He stood up straight, though there was a thin line of sweat running from his hairline to his jaw. "I thank you, though, for your oath, and for reporting the appearance of my father to me. Without you, I may never have spoken to him." He nodded to Marcellus, who bowed in response, and allowed Horatio to lead him away.

"Was it very bad, my lord?" Horatio asked softly as they walked.

Hamlet could only shake his head. Horatio, looking at him, saw the tears that were once more flowing from his eyes. Horatio felt his heart clench and stopped in the shadows where two walls met to take the Prince in his arms, and let Hamlet cry himself out on his shoulder. It took a long time. Hamlet was a proud man, but he was bone-weary and sick at heart, and his father was dead. He did not hold back. With each shuddering sob, Horatio had to blink back tears of his own. In all the years he had known Hamlet, he had never seen him as distraught as this.

At last Hamlet pulled back and dragged his sleeve across his eyes. "My apologies, Horatio," he whispered. "I am not weak, merely... tired."

"I understand," Horatio answered quietly.

"Oh, Horatio." Hamlet's voice broke on his name. "Things are worse than you could ever imagine."

"Tell me?"

He told. As they walked slowly through the night back to the castle proper, through its twisting staircases and shadowed hallways, avoiding the guards and the men on watch with ease, Hamlet told Horatio everything about his conversation with the Ghost – its identity as his father's spirit, Claudius' terrible plot, and the oath that Hamlet's father had made him swear. Horatio felt his Prince trembling as he spoke, but his voice held only exhaustion. There would be time, Horatio knew, for rage and then for grief, but for now, Hamlet was simply too tired.

They had reached the Prince's chambers. There were no guards nearby and they slipped into his bedroom with ease. Horatio did his best to ignore the little thrill of excitement and fear; they had never done this before. Hamlet's room was lavishly decorated, but Horatio knew that most of it had been his mother's design. Only the stack of books on the long table spoke of the Hamlet that Horatio knew.

"Stay tonight," Hamlet said, gripping Horatio's hands with a sudden intensity that made the other man shiver.

"I dare not, my lord," he replied automatically, pushing aside how very much he wanted to. "If I am discovered... Your uncle..."

"The pox take my uncle, and the crows peck out his eyes," Hamlet hissed viciously. "I want you, Horatio, and there is not an uncle nor a king in all of the world that will stop me. Do you understand? I want you now." This time his kiss was bruising and fierce, but Horatio, who knew him so well, could tell that it was an act, a front, an attempt to push away the feelings and the memories of all that Hamlet had heard tonight, and he did not complain. Nor did he resist when Hamlet unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the floor, to be swiftly followed by the rest of their clothes. He made no argument when the Prince backed him up to the bed and pinned him to the sheets, arms and legs trapping him as though in a cage, mouth descending to kiss and lick and bite at his neck. His small gasps and cries that punctuated their lovemaking only ever signified encouragement, appreciation, gratitude. _Yes, touch me there. No, it doesn't hurt. Take all that you need and more_.


End file.
